Mourn with those who mourn

From the Pastor to you:

A few days ago, I heard a testimony that profoundly moved my heart. It was the story of a Methodist pastor who had spent many years serving in Africa, later ministered among the Eskimo people in the remote regions of Alaska, and now shepherds a church in Korea. In some of the harshest mission fields—where resources were scarce and daily survival was uncertain—he testified that God sustained him through unceasing grace and through the faithful hands of those God sent along the way. What touched me most was how God called him to Alaska. It was not a place he ever wanted to go. In fact, he had been preparing for ministry in New Zealand. But during prayer, Alaska began pressing upon his heart—again and again. Though he tried to ignore it, the conviction grew stronger. Then God confirmed the same calling to his wife. Just one week before their scheduled move to New Zealand, they surrendered to God’s will and obeyed. They went to Alaska, where they eventually built an Eskimo mission center and planted a church. But obedience does not shield us from sorrow.

One day, a guest came to visit their home for fellowship. While they were greeting the guest downstairs on the first floor, something terrible happened. The pastor’s family lived in a second–floor apartment and they had two sons, ages two and four. In Alaska, because it is cold most of the time, they usually never open the windows. But that day, for some fresh air, they left a window slightly opened with the screen in place. While they were speaking with the guest, they suddenly saw one of the children hanging outside the second–floor window. Shocked and terrified, they rushed upstairs and grabbed the child’s hand. The first child survived, but the younger one fell and died on the spot. Later, they learned what happened: the children had climbed up to the open window and began pushing and bouncing against the window screen, thinking it was fun. But the screen came loose, and they fell together. Holding the child in his arms while running to the hospital, the father prayed, “Lord, if You save this child, I will do anything.” However, three days later, the child returned to the arms of God. Suddenly, overwhelming guilt flooded his heart—guilt for opening the window that day, guilt for that exact moment, guilt for that exact place. And in that grief arose the question so many have asked in the darkest moments: Why? Why would such a devastating tragedy occur, not in comfort or safety but in the very land to which God called them? In the place where they had faithfully obeyed?

The church leadership encouraged them to take some time to rest in Los Angeles. But rest cannot be found when their heart is bleeding. For days, they barely spoke. The weight of sorrow was unbearable. One day, the pastor wandered outside, walking aimlessly until he found himself standing in front of a church. He entered, knelt, and tried to pray, but no words came. His heart was too shattered. After a long silence, he could only whisper a single word: “Lord…” Suddenly, a bright light appeared, and before him stood the Lord. He heard God speak: “When My Son was nailed to the cross, I felt the same pain you are feeling now.” Beside the Lord, he saw his son in a vision. The child smiled and said, “Daddy, I’m okay. I’m doing well here. One day we will meet again. Until then, please stay healthy.” In that moment, the crushing weight that had suffocated his heart lifted. God poured into him what he later called “the Spirit that understands the heart of God.” It became the wellspring of his ministry. He learned to feel with those who suffer, to hold the broken close, to love with a depth no classroom or textbook could ever teach. When his church members suffer, he suffers with them—sometimes so deeply that he needs pain medication because he physically feels their pain.

As I listened to his testimony, I was reminded of something essential to the life of faith: truth must always be carried by love. Truth can never be communicated powerfully if it is wrapped in a judgmental attitude, pride, or arrogance. Faith is not measured by how much Scripture we know, how eloquently we pray, or how strong our doctrine is. These things matter—of course they do—but they are not the essence. When overemphasized, they can even become barriers that hide the glory of God and divide the body of Christ.

Those who have walked through the valley of deep and devastating suffering know that eloquent theology and perfect doctrine are not everything in the Christian life. The kind of church God desires, the kind of ministry that pleases Him, and the kind of life that reflects Christ are found where people mourn together, cry together, heal together, and rejoice together in the name of Jesus—where love carries truth and compassion becomes the vessel of grace. Such love is the true mark of Christian faith. “Love one another. By this, all people will know that you are My disciples.” (John 13:34-35)

Romans 12:15 "Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep"

In His Love,

Rev. Won D. Kim

Lead Pastor of RockSpring Church